On the Walls of the Day
by Katowisp
Summary: Steve moves into Stark Tower and fixes it up. Natasha and Clint aren't far behind. Prelude to Saga Rogerson
1. I see the Road all Ripe With Jewels

The Saga Rogerson (Working title)

Chapter I See the Roads all Ripe with Jewels

"I've spent too long away from home

Did all the things I could have done

Gone are the days of endless thrills"

-Going Home, Dan Auberach

Steve Rogers stared at the documents Fury had unceremoniously thrust into his hands.

"Agent Coulson was working on this for you. It just came through," was all he said before leaving Steve to study the line of zeroes printed across the first page. After a moment's hesitation, he folded the papers and stashed them in his jacket pocket. Steve wasn't sure of the next step to take, but he knew someone who could point him in the right direction.

Within the hour, he stood knocking on the door of Stark Tower. What, he wondered, did proper etiquette call for when visiting a man whose home and business had been partly demolished in the recent alien attack?

"Captain America," JARVIS intoned, the doors sliding open with a iwoosh/i. "Mr. Stark is on the top level. I recommend you take the stairs. The elevator is still out."

"Sure. Steve is fine, by the way," he muttered.

"Yes, sir."

The climb would have exhausted a normal human, and Steve was a little surprised that Tony mustered the energy to climb the stairs everyday. Around floor 5, he remembered the Iron Man suit and chided himself.

At floor 10, he started to second-guess his visit.

At floor 25, he wondered when Tony had the time to hang pictures of himself and his creations in the stairwell. There were a _lot_ of stylistic versions of the Iron Man doing heroic things. It reminded Steve of his embarrassing USO tours.

Between floors 30 and 35, he had to use a little dexterity to scale the missing steps. By the time he reached floor 36, he could hear strands of an upbeat musical number. By floor 38, he could start to make out the words.

"_We're marching to a faster pace/Look out, here comes the master race._

_ Springtime for Hitler and Germany..."_

He would not ask about the song. He knew Tony well enough to know when he was being goaded. But the war had just been over a month and a half ago for him, and although it would seem America had moved on, Steve found he didn't have it in him to regard it as a matter of levity.

It was easier, he supposed, to make fun of something when most of your friends hadn't died in it.

He opened the door to the top floor. In the middle of the debris and collapsed ceiling was Tony Stark, lounging on his couch, sipping from a low-ball and holding a mug out for Steve.

"Care for a beer? You seem like a beer guy."

"Yeah, thanks," Steve said as he navigated piles of construction plastic and chunks of marble and granite.

"So, Cap, what brings you to my humble abode? Sorry for the mess. I'm renovating." Tony blithely explained, gesturing around the destroyed room with a sweep if his hand.

"If this is a bad time..." Steve began.

"No, no. I was taking a break."

"Good. In that case, Fury brought me something I thought you could help with."

Tony made a face.

"It's not another mission, is it?"

"No, nothing like that," Steve promised, handing over the papers.

Tony settled back into his couch and unfolded the documents. Steve shifted his weight awkwardly. Tony spent a moment scanning the financial diatribe before a smile broke out on his face. He looked up at Steve.

"They backdated your pay?"

"Yeah. I guess Agent Coulson started putting in the paperwork the moment he realized I was alive. There are also some bonds that have appreciated. And I don't know how, but he got me backdated at current pay. It's all hazardous duty, so the money is non-taxable."

Tony laughed in a way that reminded Steve of Howard, but Steve knew better than to say as much. Howard had always been less stoic, less prickly-but apparently that changed after Tony was born, and Steve's initial hope of using Howard Stark's memory as a bonding point between he and Tony quickly fizzled.

"I'm shit with finances, but I've got some killer lawyers. Pepper can help you, too. I see you had a fair amount in savings. Bet you never thought you'd come calling on them seventy years later!"

"No." He'd made Peggy the primary beneficiary, but she'd never touched it and Steve didn't know why. He wondered, guiltily, if it was because she'd hoped they'd find him one day, too.

And they had. It had just been two years too late.

Tony caught the pained expression on Steve's face, and his expression softened slightly.

"Here, take a seat." Tony swept the couch free of debris, dust and little clunks of stone hitting the floor with a clatter. Steve took the proffered seat, settling in a little uneasily.

"I don't know what to do with all this money," Steve admitted, still stunned by the fact his collected finances amassed to over a million dollars. Money had meant a lot more when he was a teen and there wasn't much of it. Once he'd entered the service, though, the Army had done a good job of taking care of him. Besides, money didn't matter when friends were dying and he was running missions and hadn't been sure if he'd make it to the next day.

One of the reasons he'd not signed Agent Coulson's cards right away was because looking at them had reminded him too closely of the _Picture of Dorian Gray_-as if somehow the images had retained his youth for all these years.

It was a silly comparison, of course. Gray's portrait had aged and grown foul. The cards Coulson had called vintage were pictures he'd clearly remembered taking. Rip Van Winkle was a more apt fictional figure.

"I'll get my people to take care of you," Tony offered, breaking Steve from his reverie. He clapped Steve on the back. "Welcome to the one percent."

"I don't understand that reference."

Tony laughed again.

"We've got to get you sped up on pop culture and history since you took your nap."

Sometimes, Steve wasn't sure he cared to know all the references that flew over his head. The world had gotten a lot stranger and cruder since he went away.

"JARVIS," Tony called.

"Sir."

"Get this info to Pepper and my legal team and let's get the Captain settled in with some style. Have you thought about where you'd like you dream home? Malibu? You could be my neighbor. Miami! Oh, or maybe Aspen. No, too much snow. Probably too soon, am I right?"

"I don't think I need a dream house," Steve hedged.

"Well, where do you think you're going to live? You know, there will be downtime. Like now! Where's SHIELD got you?"

"The BOQ."

"No!" Tony seemed adamant. "Unacceptable!"

"It's not that bad," Steve protested. He rather liked how they'd tried to date it for him.

"No. No, no, no." Tony rolled his eyes. "You're staying here until we get you situated."

"I don't want to impose."

"Are you serious? I've got forty floors. There's room to spare. JARVIS! Pull up _Back to the Future_." Tony talked over Steve's objections. "Your education starts now!"

The lights (what few of them worked) dimmed, and a huge screen unfolded from the ceiling.

"I think you'll enjoy this film." Tony grinned. "Might relate to it on some level."

A/N

BOQ stands for Bachelor Officer's Quarters

The title is from "Mowgli's Road" by Ariana and the Diamonds

This chapter actually intended to be a stand alone. I was musing with my husband what Steve's backpay must be like. Then it went crazy, and I've got two sequels (and a full story past this one.)

I went back and did the math and because I'm lazy, I decided to backdate him at today's rates and decided hey, that's what Clauson would do. The original amount amassed to just over a half a million. However, I imagine he'd have some of the same bonds he'd campaigned for put in his account and that, plus his savings, would've appreciated a hell of a lot.)

Hazard pay is awarded to anyone in a wartime zone. Technically, I believe only a certain amount is non-taxable. (For civilians, it's the first 80 k. I don't know what it would be for military, as none of us ever made enough to cap out and I didn't exactly ask my CO. But I'm *pretty* certain that for military, it's never taxable. Which is great, because it makes taxes a breeze and you get one hell of a kickback because the government considers you below poverty level from the actual claimed income. HEYO. But I digress. That's probably more than you wanted to know about military pay!) Regardless, this is my thinking behind none of it being taxable once Steve comes calling.

Anyway, I decided to make this a prelude, so the Saga can be a stand alone.


	2. You're Wondering Who I Am

CHAPTER 2 You're Wondering Who I Am, Machine or Mannequin

I'm not a robot without emotions, I'm not what you see.

I've come to help you with your problems so we can be free.

-Mr. Roboto, the Styx

"Sir," Jarvis intoned, "are you all right?"

No matter how many times Steve had been told JARVIS was merely an intelligent computer, Steve couldn't help but get the creeps when its British, slightly mechanical voice addressed him.

Initially, Steve tried to think of it (him?) as a ghost, but that was worse.

At Steve's silence, JARVIS went on to say, "You have only been sleeping, on average, 1.5 hours total per night in the last week."

"I don't..." Steve cleared his throat. "I don't need a lot of sleep."

"Yes, sir. I am well acquainted with the effects of the serum in your body. However, my data shows that you still require an average of four hours of sleep."

Steve put down his notebook and pen, where he'd idly been sketching his friends from memory. An unfinished Dum Dum grinned back at him, bowler hat askew and a beer raised in cheers.

JARVIS remained silent, patiently awaiting a response.

"I've slept enough," Steve finally said.

"Sir, you have only slept-"

"I spent seventy years sleeping. I have slept i_enough_."/i

"With all due respect, Captain Rogers, several scientific studies have proven that one's body cannot 'harbor' sleep, as it were. I have several lovely natural sound recordings that are quite soothing."

The rhythmic sound of ocean waves spontaneously filled the room. It reminded Steve of when he was very young, back when his parents still had money. They'd taken him to Cape May, where he'd spent the weekend combing the sand for "diamonds." He'd stored them in a box on his shelf, along with other boyhood treasures. The shell of a cicada. A rock smoothed by a river. A shark's tooth. He wondered where that box was now.

"JARVIS, do you have any Glenn Miller?"

"Yes, sir." The beach sounds were replaced by _Moonlight Serenade._ The lights dimmed, and memories of a smokey bar came back unbidden. All his friends were there, and Bucky had coaxed a girl out onto the floor, where they were swaying in time.

Steve set his sketchbook aside, allowing himself to fall into his memories. He was lured back to sleep by Billie Holiday's _God Bless the Child, _ and woke a few hours later feeling well rested. The morning sun was just stretching across the horizon.

Steve found himself alone in the destroyed Stark Tower more often than not. After the first day, he asked JARVIS where the tools were so he could start putting things back together.

When Steve got lost in the tower (which happened more often than he'd like to admit), JARVIS would quietly guide him in the right direction.

When Steve grew bored, JARVIS recommended new films to watch.

Annette Hanshaw, The Andrews Sisters, Ella Fitzgerald, and all the songs he remembered and loved followed him as he tore down walls and rebuilt cabinets. JARVIS had all the blueprints and could source the materials, and it was just a matter of putting things back together. Eventually, several strange robots began helping him. There was a stunted robot that proved to be quite industrious. It didn't seem to talk, and Steve felt odd just calling it "robot". He took to calling it Wells. The robot responded well enough to its name, and soon followed him nearly anywhere in the tower, a silent, oddly shaped, obedient puppy-robot.

One evening, when Steve jolted up from a nightmare (it was Bucky-it was _always_ Bucky-or Peggy, her smooth, husky voice coming in over the radio), JARVIS brought up the lights as Steve flailed, his fingers grasping around his pencils and sketch pad. In his drawings, he hoped to rectify the looks of fear and accusation that so commonly filled his sleeping hours.

Soon, JARVIS became something of a critic, recommending slight adjustments to his pictures, techniques to bring them to life or give them depth. And when Steve plowed through his first sketchbook, he found a whole stack delivered to the front door the next day.

"Sir, would you care to become acquainted with technology?" JARVIS asked one afternoon. Steve looked up from the cabinet door he was carefully sliding onto the wet bar.

"Not really, JARVIS."

"It may prove to be quite a boon to you, sir. Unfortunately, it will not be going away."

"No," Steve sighed as he stood up. He put the screwdriver on the granite counter. "I don't suppose it will."

And so, between remodeling and sketching projects, JARVIS slowly brought Steve up to speed on all things modern. He started with military technology. Steve developed an immediate and intense appreciation for night vision goggles. He thought IR technology was a thing that belonged in the science fiction books, and never could have expected it to be real. He got into occasional ethics debates with JARVIS over the use of drones in war zones.

One evening, as Steve was rearranging the wet bar liquors, JARVIS spoke up.

"Sir, Mr. Stark is arriving."

Steve grinned.

When Tony barged into the room, Steve was lounging on the couch he and JARVIS had ordered to replace the torn, debris-ridden couch Tony had first invited him to sit on. He held up a whiskey on the rocks. Tony stopped abruptly, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline and Steve took quiet pleasure in seeing the seemingly unflappable man disturbed.

"Care for a drink?"

Emotions warred on Tony's face. He seemed to settle on disgruntled. Well, no surprise there.

"I said you could _live_ here, not...I mean. What's going on here?"

"JARVIS pulled up your blueprints. I've just been fixing some of the minor things. Ms. Potts said you wanted to make some pretty big renovations, so we just worked on the smaller stuff."

"We?" Tony echoed.

"JARVIS and I," Steve clarified. "And Wells."

"Who?"

"You know, that little robot."

"Huh." Tony crossed the room and took the drink. He settled in beside Steve, looking around the room. The bar was completely fixed, the giant holes in the wall repaired, and there was no longer a gaping hole in the ceiling. Tony took it in silently and then regarded Steve evenly.

"Not bad."

Which, Steve figured, was as close to "thank you" as he'd ever get from Tony Stark.

A/n

Lyrics are from the Styx's "Mr. Roboto." (Who else!)

As far as I can figure, Tony never named that little robot of his, and even if he did, he probably didn't share it with Steve. I figured Steve would name if after a science fiction author he was probably familiar with.

Cape May, New Jersey is famous for these little crystals that are found on the beaches there. They call them diamonds.

IR means infared.

Please review! I'd like not to be a review whore, but the fact of the matter is, no one will come to read if nobody else cares to say if they like it. And if you hate it/have criticism, well hell, go ahead and post that, or send me a PM. I have literally spent months of my life on this project. And if only ten people like it, well, that's good enough for me. But if you're one of those ten, please let me know!


	3. The Heat was Hot and the Ground was Dry

CHAPTER The Heat was Hot, and the Ground Was Dry

On the first part of the journey,

I was looking at all the life.

There were plants and birds and rocks and things,

There was sand and hills and rings.

The first thing I met was a fly with a buzz,

and the sky, with no clouds.

The heat was hot, and the ground was dry,

But the air was full of sound.

You see I've been through the desert on a horse with no name,

It felt good to be out of the rain.

In the desert you can remember your name,

'Cause there ain't no one for to give you no pain.

"Horse with No Name" by America

Natasha and Clint quietly moved in on a Thursday morning. It made sense, Steve reflected, because they did everything silently, and as a pair.

He wasn't told why they decided to take up residence in Stark Tower, but as a soldier, he knew not to question orders. Besides, it was nice to have other people around. Tony kept strange hours, and rarely came up for breakfast.

"It's the most important meal of the day," Steve had told him.

"Unless there's mimosa's involved, I'm not interested," Tony's hand drifted over his glasses before grabbing a hi-ball. "I've got the only soldier in the world who doesn't throw them back like a champ. Just my luck," Tony groused as he grabbed a bottle of whiskey from his newly fixed bar and headed back downstairs.

Steve flipped the last omelet and delivered a stack of them to the table.

"I didn't figure you for the domestic type, Cap," Natasha rifled through the drawers in the kitchen until she found the silverware and began setting a table for three.

Steve shrugged as he placed a serving in front of Clint. "Breakfast isn't going to cook itself."

Clint took a sip from a cool glass of milk. "Anything I can do to help?"

"No, we'll serve you, your majesty," Natasha handed Clint his utensils.

When Steve was done, he settled down with his own plate.

"Bacon and eggs, I like it. Classic," Natasha spread jam over her toast.

"Protein keeps you full longer," Steve jabbed his eggs. "So how long are you guys here for?"

Natasha and Clint shared a look. "Fury thinks it best if we're all in one place, in case they need to call us up again."

"When they need to call us out again," Clint amended.

"Smart," Steve grabbed his orange juice. "They expecting something to come up?"

"Who knows? Six months ago, our biggest threat was terrestrial. We have enough problems on the earth as it is without alien gods."

"They're not gods," Steve said firmly.

Natasha shrugged. "Whatever they are, they gave us a run for our money."

"Talk about an international incident," Clint said around a mouthful of eggs.

"What about you, Cap? What do you think of the twenty-first century?"

Steve considered, fork poised over his bacon. "It's not so different," He finally said. "We're still at war, and it's just as terrible. But the advances made in the last seventy years.-the vaccinations alone!" Steve's face brightened slightly. "In the summer, they used to shut down the pools in the summer because of polio outbreaks and now it's almost completely vanquished."

"Vaccinations, huh?"

"And photographs and TV," Steve continued. "All in color, too."

"The things we take for granted," Clint began.

"Didn't even exist seventy years ago," Natasha finished, a thoughtful look on her face.

"If you'd told me seventy years ago that you didn't even need a wire or an operator for the telephone, I would've thought you were crazy."

"Well, welcome back, Cap."

Cap raised his orange juice. "Thank you."

"I'll cook tomorrow," Natasha offered.

"Sounds good."

As it turned out, Natasha was a pretty good cook, too. After the first day, Steve would show up to prep a meal and Natasha would already be pulling ingredients from the fridge.

And while Clint wasn't as skilled behind a stove, he knew his way around a grill.

Slowly, the three began working up a rotation. Clint and Steve learned the intricacies of Russian cuisine, Clint taught Steve the best way to flip a burger, and JARVIS pointed them towards several cooking websites.

"Food blogs!" Steve exclaimed. Maybe there was something to this internet thing after all.

After a few weeks, the smell of home-cooked meals convinced Tony that there was life outside the workshop and that breakfast, even without alcohol, might be an endeavor worth trying.

"I didn't know I had Martha Stewart in my house," he said offhandedly, sliding into a chair.

Steve ignored Tony, wondering if this was the first time people had actually eaten at this table. Tony either indulged at one of his many parties or charity events and Pepper had a fridge in her office where she kept things like hummus and quinoa and other foods Steve had never heard of.

Clint, who didn't appreciate being referred to as Martha Stewart, unceremoniously dropped a steak on Tony's plate.

"Enjoy," he said, though his tone suggested Tony do otherwise. Tony made a face at Clint's back, but picked up a knife and fork and cut off his first piece.

"Steve, enlighten us. When did you learn how to cook?" Tony asked, chewing his first bite even as he began cutting the second.

Steve stopped scooping mashed potatoes and looked down on his plate. After his father had lost his fortune in the crash of '29, his parents had sunk into depression. It killed his father in the form of whiskey and gin. His mother, whose Irish lungs never quite adjusted to the smog of the city, tried to make due with what they had. She'd taught Steve nearly fifteen ways to cook a potato, about salvaging fat at the bottom of a pan or simmering bones down to make stock. She used all the resources available to her and it was with great shame that she would take him to stand in the soup lines. She'd clasped his hand tightly, her face thin and lined with worry and embarrassment. She'd sold all her finest clothes and jewels so that she could keep them fed, and when that had run out, well...

In late winter of '36, her lungs filled with fluid. It had been a fast decline. Even if the doctors could have done something, they didn't have the money for it.

Steve belatedly realized that all three of his team members were expecting a reply.

"I've eaten enough C-rations in my life," Steve explained, "so JARVIS showed me a few food blogs."

Tony laughed. "JARVIS, you two-timer. If I didn't know better, I'd think you've started liking our dear Captain America more than me."

"Sir," JARVIS said.

"The food is great," Natasha quickly declared, before Tony could say anything else.

Steve smiled, "Thanks," He jabbed at his food. The steak had lost its flavor and he finished his meal mechanically.

When Clint wasn't running missions for SHIELD, he'd taken to showing Steve the city. Steve enjoyed Central Park most of all, because in seventy years, it had changed the least. He also introduced Steve to fast food and all the gym equipment the new century had to offer.

"You had gym equipment in your day, right? I bet it hasn't changed much," Clint remarked He, like Steve, appreciated good, old-fashioned weights and punching bags (which, fortunately, hadn't changed at all), but Natasha preferred less traditional training methods.

She proved as much by sauntering into the gym one evening, frowning at the barbells they were lifting, and said, "Sure, lifting weights is nice, but what about Crossfit? I bet that'll kick even your ass, Cap."

Steve looked at Clint, who shrugged in response. "I've never tried it," Clint admitted.

Thirty minutes later, after a quick lesson in Kettebells, Steve found even he was beginning to feel the strain of the high speed workout. Sweat poured off Clint and Natasha, but they both looked invigorated.

"That's pretty incredible," Steve admitted. He wiped away sweat that gathered at his brow.

"It'll keep you in shape better than two hours of lifting," Natasha promised as she took a swig from her water bottle.

"I like working out. I don't mine two hour sessions."

"Maybe not, but add this into your rotation, and you'll be even better."

Steve could see echoes of Peggy in Natasha. Strong women existed in any decade, but it was nice to be reminded of it.

On the weekends, when Natasha wasn't out on missions of her own, she'd get permission to fly the jet out. She'd take Steve and Clint and they'd visit all the National Parks. Steve had seen a lot of cities when he'd toured the US as part of the PR campaign, but he'd never gotten to appreciate the full effects of the Square Deal, the CCC and the combined efforts of the Roosevelt cousins on the National Park system.

"Where are you guys going?" Tony asked, popping his head into the cockpit.

"The Grand Canyon," Steve answered.

Tony rolled his eyes even as he entered and took a seat. "It's just a big dent in the earth."

"I've never seen it. We're going to hike to the bottom."

"Natasha, how the hell do you get Fury to let you take the jet out every weekend?" Tony called to the front.

Natasha glanced back. "Fury owes me."

Steve kept his face glued to the window during the flight. Tony groused about "fly-over" states, but Steve enjoyed watching the great green circles or squares indicating farms. He imagined farm life hadn't changed much since the '40s, and he took comfort in that thought.

The plains gave way to the earth-tones of the high desert and distant mountains. Natasha banked the jet south, following the ridge of the Rockies. The mountains were soon replaced with scrub brush and then the gaping maw of the Grand Canyon.

Steve pressed his face to the window, his muscles thrumming with excitement. Natasha pulled them in for a landing.

The team headed out to the to the ridge. The canyon had taken on the deep colors of sunset: the brilliant orange sandstone was shaded in purples and blues.

Steve couldn't believe there was a glass bridge over the canyon. He felt intense vertigo as he stood on it, looking down.

"Hey, you know what I bet would really excite your patriotic cockles?" Tony asked rhetorically. He was already working on something with his phone. Within moments he was holding up the screen for Steve to see. Steve watched as the Marine Silent Drill team performed across America, including standing on the rim of the Grand Canyon.

"They look sharp," Steve agreed. He'd never gotten to work too closely with Marines. They were all out in the Pacific, but Steve read about them. He remembered Tarawa and Peleliu and Iwo Jima. And although he'd sunk before the battle on Okinawa, he'd made it some of his first reading material.

"They've got great PR," Clint chimed in while snapping a few photos of the canyon.

"Should we start the hike?" Steve asked, excited.

"It can probably way until morning," Natasha suggested. "Bunk here for the night and set off first thing."

"You moto types do that. I'll be up here, lounging around." Tony thumbed the jet and its plusher accommodations.

They wandered the ridge, taking note of the trail heads. Multiple signs warned them of imminent death should they decide to try and hike to the bottom and back up in one day.

"Think that applies to us?" Clint asked, studying one of the giant warning signs that sported a marathon runner who had died in the attempt. "Ten bucks says we could do it in twenty-four hours."

"We didn't pack all this sleeping gear so you guys could run down and back in one go," Natasha pointed out.

Steve turned to protest when her phone chirped. She held up a hand, signaling for them to wait. Steve could guess who was on the other end and was disappointed that they'd have to leave so soon.

"Agent Romanoff," she said. There was a pause before she replied, "Understood. We'll be there immediately," She turned to her team mates. "Sorry, boys, we've been called up. There's a mission."

"I'll let Tony know," Steve offered. He whipped out the phone Pepper had ordered for him. It wasn't a Jitterbug, which had been Tony's recommendation, but one of the new smart phones. Steve was quite proud of it.

"Siri, call Tony Stark."

"Calling Tony Stark," Siri complied.

Steve beamed at them. If Clint and Natasha were surprised, they had the decency to hide it.

"So what's the mission?" Clint asked as they buckled into the jet.

"Classified. Just you and me."

"Oh, all the Avengers aren't needed?" Tony asked, put out. "Well shit, no reason we couldn't have stayed here."

"Got orders to drop you and Cap back off at Stark Tower. Guess SHIELD isn't ready for you two to run around America just yet."

"I don't answer to SHIELD!" Tony protested.

Natasha shrugged. "You're also not skipping your ride home."

Tony grumbled but didn't push it any further.

Natasha glanced towards Steve and said, "Sorry, Cap."

"It's all right. Got to see it, didn't I?"

"We'll get back here. It's not like the Grand Canyon is going anywhere," Tony said, pushing his chair back into the reclining position and slipping his shades down.

"No," Steve agreed, watching the canyon grow distant, giant shadows claiming the details until it looked little more than a fading crack.

END CHAPTER

Story is found here:

s/8671034/1/Saga-Rogerson

P.s. I posted the last chapter when I should've been studying. I have failed said test. SHARE SOME LOVE. (I also almost always only post after two to three glasses of wine. And I drink said glasses after failure)

The CCC were the Civilian Conservation Corps. During the depression, in order to employ single, unemployed men, FDR started up this work relief program. He used them to build roads and they're largely responsible for the trails in today's parks. They also built more than 800 new National Parks and improved the current parks. They were integral to reforesting America, planting over 3 billion trees. They were shut down in 1942 as the War began to employ most men and the government's coffers had to go towards the war effort.

One of the men in the flag raising at Iwo Jima had actually been part of this program, until his family was deemed no longer "needy."

The video Tony showed Steve can be found here:  watch?v=BV1qntsbLq0

It came out when I was in training. I'll always maintain that the Marines have the best PR, and when we were low, we'd key up this video.

Crossfit is pretty popular among certain circles, and it seems like something Natasha would be great at. It is a very intense short circuit workout that maintains both cardio and muscle toning. If you're interested in it, be careful and start slow! It is so intense that it has caused kidney failure in beginners.

This is the last of the slow chapters. Sorry for the late post!

Also, as for the once a week posting despite the story being finished: My editor also leads a busy life, so she's the rate determine step (Chemistry term! WATCH OUT.) Once I have more edited chapters, I'll post faster. If you're keen on editing and helping out, send me a PM! The help would be greatly appreciated.

As a side note, there's not a lot of information about Steve's early days besides the fact that he was going to school for fine arts and that his mother was sickly and died, leaving him orphaned. His father died from alcoholism earlier in his childhood. I figure that as a resident of NY City, there was a good chance as any that his parents had been fairly well off before the stock market crash and that they, like many others, lost everything they had.

His mother is from Ireland, so although used to living well, she wouldn't have forgotten her roots. It is these things that she taught Steve.

I also figured that maybe Steve would be pretty interested in seeing the fruits of labor by the CCC and New Deal-a project he lived through but, I am sure, never got to appreciate.


End file.
